Opposites
by Sinead Rivka
Summary: Toothless, son of Stoik the Vast, never wanted to fight dragons. His reasons for doing so may surprise you. (Orphaned Story: I never finished writing this and probably never will.)
1. Chapter 1

Opposites

By Sinead

_**Author's Note:**__ This was my first time writing in this universe . . . and after at least two years, I'm just going to upload it here for kicks and giggles. I haven't abandoned my Transformers story, but there's been a crap-ton of things happening in life that I haven't had much time to write. So here's some of my old crap. I just ask that there are no flames, please. Part of this was just to explore a plotbunny that bounded off to somewhere else._

Chapter One

_This . . . is Berk._

Toothless was just like the other Vikings. He was the every-Viking. Tough and imposing like his father, manly, with hair as dark as his late and lamented mother. He was the type of young man that fit in with the crowd. His only competition was Astrid, but that was somewhat understandable, considering her background. She wanted to be the best dragon-fighter that their village had. The twins, Ruffnut and Tuffnut, were incompetent and prone to fighting amongst each other before getting anything done, Fishlegs was, well, fish-leggy and Snotlout wasn't much brighter than a dim candle, for all that he was a loyal friend.

He was handsome without being overly stocky, he wasn't overly talkative, he didn't show his emotions, and he was smart. All four traits were for him, but there was one blatant trait that nobody could overlook that stood against him and his chances to becoming a true leader of Berk. His only way to overcome that rather large and overwhelming obstacle was to kill a dragon on his own power. Rubbing at his eyes while sitting on watch with his father, he stared out over the moonlit ocean.

"So. You dinnae want to learn how to fight dragons."

"Not yet."

"An' why is tha'?"

"I like 'prenticing to Gobber. Besides." He shrugged and looked at his feet. "He's teaching me some good stuff."

"Tooth, ye hafta gi' me somethin' more'n _tha'_ to convince me tha' ye shouldna be in dragon trainin'." Stoik the Vast smiled halfway at his only son. Smiles wouldn't make a son soft. Hugging and showing overt amounts of affection would make a son soft. They were Vikings! Vikings don't show any emotion except extreme happiness at killing a dragon, extreme anger at _not_ killing a dragon when you meant to, extreme toughness when . . . Hold. Toughness wasn't an emotion. _Should_ it be an emotion? Hm.

Giving his father a look, he held up his left foot mutely. It was his obstacle. Clubbed, clearly smaller than his right foot, and a hazard to his balance, especially while swinging an axe. This was his one reason why he was being considered a failure. Chance of birth and the Accident.

"Ah, son, but the lack of a limb doesna slow a warrior down. Ye still have th' foot, after all."

This wasn't going to get him anywhere. "Da, I don't _want_ to learn how to kill dragons."

"Oh? An' what are ye gonna do wi' them elsewise?"

"I just want to learn how to smith."

"Toothless, yer my _son_. Ye have to kill dragons so that ye can _lead_ when _I'm_ old'n'grey. What d'ye think that _I_ did when me own father tol' me to fight dragons?"

"You fought dragons." Shaking his head, Toothless stood and grabbed the walking staff he brought with him everywhere so that he would be able to keep his balance. "I'm going home, Dad."

"Aye."

Not ones for farewells, they parted ways silently. Stoik returned to watching the skies, not knowing that his son didn't watch the ground as he walked away.

Toothless, too, watched the skies.

.o.

Making his way as fast as he could towards Raven Point, cursing his foot with words his father would box his ears for if he heard them, Toothless remembered the incident not three hours prior. He could throw a bolas like the best warrior in town, but when someone else throws it, tripping up a Natter, which tumbled its way into a catapult, which sends off an experimental super-bolas meant to trap dragons the size of a Monstrous Nightmare . . .

Well, let's just say that it hit _something_ that nobody had seen, and everyone had heard the distinctive whistling of a Night Fury as it was targeting, firebombing, and destroying one of the catapult towers two or three times over. Fortunately, everyone else thought that the Night Fury had left, since the battle was as good as done by that point.

Toothless, however, had been watching the skies, and saw that darker-than-midnight form plummeting.

Pausing for breath, the young man looked up the trail ahead of him. And frowned. That tree hadn't been split and fallen last time he had come out this way. Limping closer, he looked in the direction opposite the fall, seeing branches and smaller trees also sporting damage. When he turned to look the other way, his mouth dropped in shock as he saw the fresh-dug furrow in the loam, going downhill. Skidding and sliding in the soft earth, his left foot caught on a rock (more like a small boulder), and he went tumbling the final ten feet to land upon his stomach right in front of a very hungry, very angry Night Fury.

He found out that no, your mouth doesn't actually go dry in situations like these. No, he didn't wet or soil himself, and no, he wasn't shaking. Okay, he wasn't shaking _that_ badly. But he didn't scream, and he didn't move.

The dragon did.

It made a strange sound, something between a growl and a squeak. Toothless could see the way that the Night Fury had struggled against the bonds of the bolas, then had given up. Patches of the blue-black skin were rubbed raw, close to bleeding. While he knew that most dragons had a bony nature, this one . . . was he underfed? Was he a runt? Was that why he had been caught so easily? Maybe this was one of his first raids . . .

Why was he thinking about a dragon's welfare when he could just kill it and think about it later?

Moving slowly, seeing the great mossy-green eyes watching his every motion, Toothless drew his belt-knife. "I-I'm going to kill you, dragon . . . I am!" He raised his arm, looking to drive it down into the midnight chest, feeling his muscles shake. Firming his resolve and his grip on the hilt, he bit his lip. "I'll bring your heart back to my father, _proof_ that I'm worth being the next leader of Berk! I'll prove it to everyone! I'll have my own hearth, my own home!"

That was when Toothless made the singular mistake of making eye-contact with the Night Fury. He saw emotions in that great eye; fear, despair, but a stubborn will to not give in and to not go quietly. At seeing this sheer _intelligence_ that warred and rivaled with his own, Toothless' will crumbled and he backed a hobbling pace backwards, looking at the poor, crippled beast as it truly was.

Crippled . . . like him.

His arms fell to his sides, and he sighed, slumping and sitting, watching the dragon watching him before he spoke, his voice sounding old, defeated, even to his own ears. "I did this." Rubbing at his face with his free hand, he repeated the phrase sadly. "I . . . did this. I hurt you."

For almost an hour, he and the dragon watched each other as he ran through various plans, feeling the sun retreat behind clouds, and the chill of a midday sea fog roll in over the land. He couldn't bring the captured beast to Berk; he'd be put into dragon training and be the prize to be killed in front of the entire village. If he let the dragon go, he may be killed, or worse. If he left the dragon, he would end up starving to death or mangling himself worse by struggling to try to escape.

First option was out because he didn't want to directly cause the dragons' death. He didn't want to think of his reasons _why_. Third option was out because then he'd be causing the dragon's death out of negligence. Strange, that he thought of the dragon as an intelligent being that didn't want to die. But there was no denying the way that the green eyes moved over his form was indicative of intelligence at the level of at least a very smart dog.

It was wrong to kill something intelligent.

Toothless stood suddenly, going with Plan Number Two, startling the dragon as he moved to his side and gripped the rope, putting his knife away as he ran his hand along the taut wool-and-plant-fiber twine. Moving carefully, he followed the lines that bound the Fury, making sure to make a wide berth around the curling lips and the low hiss that had started to emit from the black head. Mind working furiously, Toothless walked back around to where the dragon could see him, then continued onto the ropes, once again pulling the knife out. "Well, only one way to do this . . ."

He found the loosest rope and pulled at it, glad that his knife had been sharpened only days before. It cut through the binds like a hot blade through fat. Three more ropes were sliced, and he found himself knocked backwards onto the ground, blackness surrounding him. Black wings, black forelegs, black body and neck and . . . Thor's Beard . . . the head . . .

The dragon was going to eat him.

They were staring each other in the eye, and the black beauty's wings shook, trembled, and the great green eyes began to narrow.

Squeak-growling in what appeared to be an inward breath, the dragon completed the inhale before shrieking fury into his face. Darting away, the black form seemed to shudder through the air, not moving remotely like a graceful being. Toothless moaned and began breathing again, standing up only to find time and memory blurring. When he returned to his senses, he was on the cold ground, wincing and pulling himself back up. He must have been there for a while, because he was stiff. What had . . .

Oh.

He . . . wouldn't kill the dragon.

And then . . . he had freed the dragon.

Shaking his head, he sighed and looked over his shoulder, still hearing the angry roars and cries of the dragon, punctuated with the sharp growl-squeaks. Picking his belt-knife up, he began the long trek home, still in awe that he was nose-to-nose with a dragon, and had survived.

.o.

"Toothless! There you are! Stoik was looking for you," Snotlout ambled up, moving much like his father, who was Stoik's left-hand man as opposed to Gobber being the right. Well, the left hand didn't need brains after all; it just needed to know how to hold a shield.

Nodding his assent of that fact, Toothless asked, "What's the total damage?"

"Maybe you should have _been_ here to help with it," Astrid snarled as she walked past him.

He didn't rise to her bait, but was getting frustrated with her continual competitive nature. Ignoring her, he returned his gaze to the not-so-bright young man before him. Who began to tick the things off on his hand. "Uh, a few casualties because people didn't dodge fire that well. Mainly burns. Knothead lost a couple fingers. Three houses flamed, some of the sheep herd is gone, we lost one bonfire-tower, and the big launcher-tower was completely demolished by the Night Fury."

"Anything else?"

"Really, Snotlout, you shouldn't be telling him what he should have been helping to rebuild. He could start with the sheep."

"That's _it_." Stalking over to the young woman, he spun her to face him. "I didn't ask you to hate me for what I supposedly represent to you. Take a good hard look at me and at what I can and can't do, Astrid; you'll find that you have greater abilities than I do."

"_You_ are to lead our village!"

"And I _can_ and _will_."

"You can't even _run_ across the village!"

Glaring at her, his eyes narrowing dangerously, he hissed, "Push it one more finger-length, Astrid. Keep pushing. Your jealousy of my so-called position is blinding you to the truth that really lies at the bottom of this whole situation." Turning and limping off, shoulders set much like his father's when the man was incised, he pushed between the twins, who were staring in shock after him. "You ever see him that mad, Ruff?"

"Nuh-uh." She frowned and whispered, "And I haven't seen him limp like that since he was . . . since after _that_."

Astrid glared at them while Snotlout carefully edged away from her sight and into the shadows between his house and Fishleg's, hearing the angered voice of the young woman. "Fine. Be on his side."

"We're not on anyone's side," the female twin replied, showing more maturity in this moment than she had in her whole life to this point. "But you _are_ being cruel to Toothless." Ruffnut shrugged before moving on towards their home, her brother right after her, exhausted from the rebuilding. Her voice carried over her shoulder. "It's not like he can help what he is."


	2. Chapter 2

Opposites

By Sinead

_**Author's Note:**__ Short chapter, but a lot happens. Tissue warning. Like, box of tissues, grab a blanket, and huddle. This thing is labeled "angst" for a reason._

Chapter Two

Entering his home, frowning at the sight of his father stoking the fire, Toothless sighed and didn't bother trying to mask his clumsy steps towards his room, but was stopped by his father's voice calling his name.

"Yes, Dad?"

Standing, Stoik held out a one-handed ax that, for all intents and purposes, would have been a two-hander for anyone of a stature less than Astrid's. "You will be attending dragon training tomorrow."

"But—"

"No. You will go. Even Gobber fights, and he has two less limbs than you do."

Scowling darkly, Toothless pointed out towards the village. "And what of their opinion? What of my peers, who find me to be incompetent because I can't swing an ax or a hammer without falling over because my foot won't bend the right way and hold my weight correctly?"

"Then you will stay with Gobber for special training."

"Father, you _have_ to be kidding me! Astrid will claim that's cheating!"

A knowing look ran across the elder's face. "And this is about Astrid, isn't it?"

"No! It's not about Astrid! It's about the fact that the village—"

"There is _nothing_ wrong with getting extra lessons, boy!"

"Yes, yes there is! Because if I get extra lessons, then it's like admitting that my problems are worse than what it appears to be!"

"No. No arguments. You will start training tomorrow." Picking up his sack, Stoik turned towards the door. "Now. Train hard. And I'll be back." Shoving his horned helmet upon his head, he paused. "Probably."

"And . . . I'll be here. Maybe," Toothless replied dully.

.o.

"I hope I get some _serious_ burns."

"I'm hoping for some mauling. Like, shoulder or lower back."

Good Odin above, those twins. Toothless walked behind the smallest boy, a scrawny little thing that clearly resembled a toothpick.

"Yeah, it's only fun if you get a scar out of it," Astrid commented as she looked around the arena, trying to show that she wasn't that impressed.

"Yeah, no kidding, right?" the kid's drawled sarcasm dribbled out. "Pain. Love it."

Having known all the villagers all his life, Toothless knew that the bag of skin-and-bones who could barely lift his ax was feeling just as out-of-place on the field. He sighed and shrugged, limping partially away from the group to look at the doors holding the dragons back. He had to rebuild some of the hinges after last season's dragons, and it wasn't pretty. He knew the damage that happened _in_ the arena from the weapons that came _out_ of it.

"Oh, _great_. Who let _him_ in? Oh, hi, Tooth! Ready to kick some serious tail?"

"Let's get started!" Gobber shoved the kid to stand beside Toothless, managing to push him into the larger boy who only put a hand out to steady himself by grabbing the twig's shoulder. Smiling reassuringly before patting Twiggy's back, he looked up at their teacher. "The recruit who does best will have the honor of killing his first dragon in front of the entire village."

"Ooohhh. So, does that mean that Hiccup is disqualified? I heard that he killed some sort of monster two raids ago . . ."

The lesson went on with the description of the common dragons that were straining behind their doors. Crap. Gobber was in _this_ kind of mood. Looking to the sarcastic half-Viking beside him, Toothless whispered, "Get ready to run."

"I don't need help from _you_."

"Have you watched dragon training? I have. Get ready to run."

". . . and the Gronkle." Gobber rested his hand upon the lever that would open the door.

"Woah, woah, wait," Snotlout interrupted. "Don't you have stuff to, you know, teach us first?"  
"Crap," Hiccup hissed, eyes widening.

"I believe on learning upon the job."

The lever went down.  
Hell broke loose.

The recruits scattered, and after some instruction, went after shields. The twins fought over theirs, while Hiccup had trouble putting his on. Toothless snarled inarticulately as he dodged a fireball, using his good leg to pivot and roll, limp-running towards the younger kid and reaching him while Fishlegs began to distract the Gronkle. Shoving the shield onto the thin arm, he hissed, "Next time, listen!"

"How am I supposed to know that _you_ aren't trying to get me thrown out?"

"Because I'm as big a liability as _you_ are in here!" Toothless replied with a glare, turning to face the dragon.

They were doing fine five minutes into the skirmish, some of the recruits adjusting to the pressure admirably, and the Gronkle had two shots left. Toothless had taken a shot to his shield, which threw him back into a wall. But he was glad to see that it was only Astrid and the kid left. Hiccup was a strange one. Smart, but thin, almost sickly-looking. Rumor has it that his father, one of the village Vikings, had taken up with a mainland woman who died giving birth to the runt.

Made sense.

Grinning at Astrid's shield getting blasted, rendering her "out," he watched as the lithe boy darted, not wanting to get hit. Considering the bruising he was feeling starting to form on his backside, Toothless wouldn't envy what would happen to a kid whose neck was as thin as his wrist.

Frowning at the way that the little one darted, distracting the dragon, Toothless didn't realize until far too late that something wasn't right. The Gronkle was buzzing its bitty little wings, almost herding Hiccup towards somewhere . . . It was predator behavior all right, but to what end?

Gobber saw the danger the moment that he realized it, and Toothless grabbed Astrid's ax from her hand, glad that she had startled with his sudden movement. Yelling to distract the slow-witted Grongle, it was with a sinking feeling that Toothless knew it was too late.

The fireball flew.

It hit.

Gobber tackled the Gronkle, swinging it into the wall of the arena, stunning it while he snatched the ax from Toothless' numb fingers. The sight was _horrible_. It stank with the smell of burnt hair and charred skin. Flinging himself down towards the dying boy, the leader's son brushed crumbling hair away from the burnt face, hissing, "Hiccup!"

"Shoulda . . . shoulda list'n'd . . ."

Gently cradling the small form of the boy, hearing the final downward slash of an ax ending another dragon's life, Toothless nodded. "Yeah. You should've."

"Gotta . . . gotta fight, Tooth . . ."

"I will." He felt the forms of his peers hovering around his shoulders. Then someone turned away to retch.

"Tell . . . tell Da that I'm . . . I'm sorry." Eyes were sealed shut by the flames of a dragon's breath, but a hand, bloodied and shaking, moved up to rest upon Toothless' face. "Wanted . . . wanted to be friends . . . and _fly_ . . ."

Having no words for the dying child in his arms, not even understanding the poor boy's final words, he felt the life slip away as surely as the hand fell from his face. Swallowing, Toothless stood carefully, ordering his club foot to behave, to hold the weight of _his_ villager, as he began the silent walk back towards the village.

There would be a funeral tonight.


	3. Chapter 3

Opposites

By Sinead

_**Author's Note:**__ This is just a blurb, and where I left off some time ago._

Chapter Three

"Dragons never miss, but why did you withhold your flame?"

The day after the boy Hiccup was killed, Toothless had walked out of the village, feeling the eyes of the villagers upon him dragon training had been cancelled for the day to let people mourn. They knew that he always mourned alone. The few times that someone had followed him, they had found out that his temper was worse than his father's at being interrupted from time to himself. The men returned with black eyes or bruised cheekbones, the women with lips pressed together, eyes narrowed, and bright blotches of fury written upon either cheek. He would never lift a hand to a woman, but he sure as Hell's Fire knew how to lift his voice to one who intruded upon his time.

He stared down at the Night Fury, watching the creature watch him. Sighing, he pulled out the bag that he had brought with him and pulled it over his shoulder. He left his weapons upon the ground at the lip of the sinkhole, hoping rather than knowing that the dragon wouldn't attack him. Maybe he had given up.

Just like Toothless had given up trying to fight on his own.

The dragon hissed, backing away as Toothless approached until he saw the stumbling, shuttering gait. A gait that would, in animal terms, have pegged him for death.


End file.
